


Public Rinks: A Cautionary Tale

by DoubleNegative



Series: The Locker Room: Check Please! ficlets [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Established Relationship, Ice Skating, Jack Zimmermann is squeamish, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative/pseuds/DoubleNegative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going to a public ice rink is always the first mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Rinks: A Cautionary Tale

It happened at a public rink. Of course it did. As far as Jack was concerned, a public rink was always going to be the first mistake. He still didn’t understand why Bitty loved them so much, not when Jack could get ice time at the arena--maybe not _any_ time they wanted, but close enough to it.

But Bitty loved the rink downtown, and Bitty rarely asked for things like that, so--to the public rink they went. On a Saturday afternoon. Over Christmas vacation. Bitty had worn his figure skates, and now he was working through some warm ups in a quiet corner of the rink. Jack hung back, content to skate slow laps with his hat pulled low over his forehead, trying not to attract too much attention while he watched Bitty.

It takes Bitty a few minutes to adjust when he switches back to ice skates after weeks or months in hockey skates, but his muscle memory catches up fast, in a way Jack always admires. (He’s never put on figure skates himself. If he’s honest, he still isn’t entirely sure how toe picks _work_. They’re for stopping, obviously, but...how? A mystery.)

A few laps later and Bitty’s fully warmed up, moving through effortless circles and figure eights, backwards and forwards, loop after easy loop. The exertion and the December air have painted his cheeks red, as bright as the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

Jack ducks his head to hide his smile, sure that if he keeps watching Bitty like this, everyone will finally see the “heart eyes” Shitty always chirps him about. He sort of doesn’t care, but--he knows he should. A least for a little while longer. Till Bitty graduates, maybe.

From the other side of the rink, he hears applause, and he looks up in time to see Bitty land one jump and sweep right into a smooth, dizzying spin. Bitty’s gathered a tiny crowd, parents and kids and a few teenagers trying not to look _too_ impressed, and he’s not above playing it up: a wider grin, a touch more speed, a little more flair to his movements.

Jack’s heart eyes are probably visible from space.

He skates closer anyway, hands in his pockets. Everyone’s watching Bitty right now; Jack won’t stand out if he stays just for a minute and lets his eyes linger over Bitty’s strong form, his graceful athleticism. Bitty knows how to make it look easy, even relaxing, but Jack knows how hard he works and how much skill it takes to create that illusion of ease.

Bitty winds up his impromptu routine, coming to a precise stop with his arms extended above his head. There’s another burst of applause from the gathered onlookers and he takes a sweeping, exaggerated bow before scanning the crowd for Jack.

Jack doesn’t say anything when Bitty reaches his side; in fact, he doesn’t trust himself to do anything but hip-check Bitty gently and hope he understands. Bitty just checks him back, and rolls his eyes when Jack doesn’t budge.

They skate slowly side-by-side, hands brushing, while the crowd swirls around them. A few meters ahead, a tiny girl in a tiny pink peacoat lets go of her mother’s hand and skates a few tentative steps forward on her own, while her older brother claps enthusiastically.

“Oh Lord,” Bitty says. “Is that the cutest thing or what? I didn’t know they made ice skates that little.”

As they watch, the girl sneezes, hard enough to take herself by surprise, and she pitches forward onto the ice, arms windmilling. Her brother changes course abruptly to avoid running into her, and he overbalances too, hitting the ice hard. The little girl clambers up again almost immediately, trying to look brave, but her brother sits up more slowly, one hand pressed his mouth, red dripping between his fingers.

Jack feels his own blood drain from his face with disorientating speed. “Oh fuck,” he whispers, barely audible over the roaring in his ears, and he tries to make for the boards. The boy takes his hand from his mouth very slowly, then spits. A single tooth lands in his open palm, and that’s it. Jack’s vision goes bright and he reaches blindly for something to grab hold of before everything goes dark.

He comes to just a few seconds later. Everything’s still buzzing around the edges, but Bitty’s worried face, just a few inches above his own, is clear.

“ _Jack_ ,” he says, voice tight and eyes pinched. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

Jack grunts an affirmative and sits up slowly, Bitty’s hand firm between his shoulders. He’s painfully aware of the gathering crowd, of his position in Bitty’s lap, of all the possible news stories and hashtags that could result from Jack Zimmermann collapsing at a public ice rink. “Low blood sugar or something, probably.” He’s careful not to look for the little boy, careful not to even think about the bloody gap in his front teeth. His stomach lurches.

Bitty doesn’t look satisfied, but he helps Jack up nonetheless, and steers him toward the benches. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go sit down, then. I’ll get us some hot chocolate. Not that the cocoa they sell here even deserves the name--I _knew_ I should’ve filled us thermos before we left--but it’ll tide you over till I can get you home, at least, and then--”

“Bittle,” Jack says, embarrassment taking over as the dizziness fades. “I’m okay. I promise. It was just--uh, it was the kid. With his mouth.”

Bitty’s eyes widen. “Jack Zimmermann, are you telling me the sight of blood makes you faint? You’re a _hockey player_ , how do you--”

Jack stuffs his hands back in his pockets and looks at his feet. “Not blood. Um, teeth. Mostly. The way he spat it out--” His stomach churns again and he cuts himself off.

“That’s not _better._ Half the NHL is missing teeth,” Bitty says, and then his tone softens. “But I guess I can’t exactly talk, can I? I mean, what kind of hockey player faints over a dumb check, right?”

Jack bumps his shoulder into Bitty’s. “Come on, you haven’t done that in years.”

“Thanks to you.” Bitty laughs, more relaxed now that he’s sure Jack isn’t going to collapse again. “I just can’t believe you fainted right into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes. Now come on, let’s get you home. I don’t care if it’s not low blood sugar, I’m making us some real hot chocolate anyway. And I think there are still biscotti left from yesterday? Oh! or I could make gingerbread…”

Jack smiles and lets himself be led away, his embarrassment fading away in the face of Bitty’s relentlessly cheerful chatter. Next time, though, they are definitely just going to get ice time _by themselves_ at the arena.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where all these words are coming from, honestly. New fandom energy, I guess?
> 
> This was inspired by #38 on [this list of prompts](http://sadquebecois.tumblr.com/post/142978546215/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-make-you/). It probably won't be the last thing I write from that list, either.
> 
> I'm flailing my way through fandom at [one thousand hurrahs](http://www.onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com/)\--come join me!


End file.
